


The Village of Former Detectives

by OldSwinburne



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, The Prisoner (1967)
Genre: 1950s, Character Death, Conspiracy Theories, Crossover, Epistolary, Everyone is miserable, Extended Metaphors, Gen, Klaus Does Research, Letters and Newspapers, Literary References & Allusions, Misery, Multiple Crossovers, Mystery, So I'm putting an appendix to explain them all, There are some really obscure references here, Unreliable Narrator, V.F.D., because why not, fun with acronyms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:24:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14717798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldSwinburne/pseuds/OldSwinburne
Summary: When the Baudelaire orphans wake up in a mysterious seaside village, and are given numbers rather than names, they are surprised to realise that they can find the answers to which they seek. The misery, heartbreak and unending woe, however, is less surprising, so please turn back now, before you read any more.





	The Village of Former Detectives

* * *

 

To My Kind Editor,

Please excuse the hasty and haphazard, a word which here means “written hastily while the building I am in burns down around me”, nature of this note. I am writing to you from the Village of Former Detectives, a rather pleasant seaside resort in which the Baudelaire orphans spent several months after their escape from the Island, mentioned in my last missive (cf. ‘The End’). I know I have promised to never write, telegram, signal or otherwise communicate with you again, but there is one more account of the Baudelaire orphans that needs to be told before you and I can rest peacefully. 

Next Tuesday, take a tram into Bayport, and make your way towards the centre of the Quimby Botanical Gardens. Underneath the tallest oak tree there will be a receptacle that appears to be a rubbish bin, but which has a small etched sigil of a muted trumpet on the top. Open it. Inside will be a bundle of letters wrapped up with string that will contain my description of the children’s extended stay within this town, entitled THE VILLAGE OF FORMER DETECTIVES, as well as a copy of Richard Wharfinger’s  _ The Courier’s Tragedy,  _ a small badge with a penny farthing emblazoned on it, and a photograph of a weather balloon. There will also be a personal note addressed to you, Moxie Mallahan, which I hope will serve as something of an apology.

Remember, you are my last hope that the sorry story of the four Baudelaire orphans can finally be told to the general public, and I can rest once more.

With all due respect,

Lemony Snicket.

\-- _Letter from Lemony Snicket to Moxie Mallahan dated 7th March 1957_

* * *

  
  


If you have ever read a book before, you may have noticed the use of past, present and future tense in order to describe the events in question. If you have never read a book before, I implore you to select another to serve as your first foray into the world of literature, as this continued foray into the lives of the Baudelaire orphans will be miserable enough to put you off reading forever. To return to the question at hand, tense is used by authors to explain when the events being narrated are happening: for example, if someone was to say “I was attacked by a rhinoceros”, then I would weep for the woes they had undergone, while congratulating them on their ability to escape such a dangerous situation. If they were to say “I am being attacked by a rhinoceros”, I would rent my hair in misery at the danger occuring to that person, as well as applaud them for their relative sanguinity. And if they were to say “I will be attacked by a rhinoceros”, then I would write a heart-wrenching sonnet about the cruelty waiting for them in the future, while admiring their planning and predictive skills.

“I was miserable when Kit died,” said Violet Baudelaire, echoing a sentiment that I share. “I felt that she was the last connection to our parents- and the outside world.” She was using the past tense in referring to the death of Kit Snicket, my sister and a companion and friend of the Baudelaire orphans. 

“I am miserable,” said Klaus, looking nervously around the empty sea. “We are on a ship in the middle of the sea, and we don’t know where land is.” Klaus was using the present tense to describe their current situation- stranded in the ocean with little chance of rescue. 

“I will be miserable, I expect,” said Sunny, who had a more developed vocabulary then in her previous adventures. “Our food is starting to run out, and when that happens we’ll probably starve to death.” Sunny was using the future tense to describe their rather unfortunate situation, and the perils that no doubt awaited them.

“Tense,” said little Beatrice Snicket. As well as sharing the name of the woman I loved with all my heart, Beatrice was also the daughter of Kit Snicket, my sister, who I loved almost as much as Beatrice. The younger Beatrice was young, but already showed the intelligence and courage of both of those women. In her life on Ishmael’s island, she had absorbed any books concerning mathematics, and was able to spout out measurements and numbers all day long, despite her young age. 

“That’s right, B,” said Sunny, who was the closest to the Snicket-Denouement-Baudelaire child. “I suppose we can use all three tenses to be miserable.”

“I wouldn’t mind, but there were no sea-charts on the Island,” bemoaned Klaus. “If we had one of those, we could sail to land and safety. As it is, we’re buffeted on the seas of fate.”

Violet looked out for a moment over the vast expanse of ocean. “What was that thing Joseph Conrad said?”

Klaus gave a wry chuckle and quoted, “‘There is nothing more enticing, disenchanting, and enslaving than the life at sea.’”

Klaus’ use of this quote was apposite, as in many ways the Baudelaire orphans’ voyage on the  _ Beatrice  _ was enticing, disenchanting, and enslaving. The promise of future safety and answers enticed them ever onwards, searching for more answers about their parents past, and V.F.D.. The knowledge that misfortune and misery would plague their footsteps everywhere they went was disenchanting, spoiling their enjoyment of the open waters. And they were in many ways enslaved by the knowledge that there was no happy ending in sight, as if there lives since that cold day on Briny Beach was a procession of endless woe, a series of unfortunate events.

“Tense,” said Beatrice, again. 

“Do you remember when we went to the City Aquarium with mother and father?” asked Violet, chuckling to herself.

“Yes!” exclaimed Klaus, joyfully, and even Sunny, who was too young to remember, smiled at her siblings’ happiness. “We went to see all of the different fish, didn’t we? I remember seeing the Deep-Sea Anglerfish, which attracts its prey with its illicium before swallowing it whole.”

“Illicium?” queried the ever-curious Sunny Baudelaire.

“The illicium is a glowing, fleshy growth emerging from the head of the anglerfish,” Klaus defined, pushing his water-logged glasses up his nose. “Other fish see it and are drawn towards it, intrigued by its otherworldly nature…”

He trailed off, looking into the horizon.

“And then?” asked Violet.

“And then they are consumed by the jaws of the anglerfish.”

If you have ever had the misfortune to be wrapped up in an ancient and international conspiracy, or have been inducted into a secret organisation, than you will know that is can often be very dangerous to investigate something that seems alien, new and interesting, but which actually proves to be a lure to an enormous danger or threat lurking just under the surface of regular society. Move to close to the orb-like Illicium and you will be consumed, name, identity and all.

“Tense,” said Beatrice.

Violet was quick to reassure her young charge, stating “Don’t worry, Beatrice. Fish like that stay far, far below the sea level,” which was true, and  “We’re safe on the surface”, which was not.

“I wonder what Mother and Father would have thought of where we are now. All at sea,” wondered Sunny Baudelaire, looking at her older siblings questioningly. The phrase “all at sea” is interesting one, as it has two meanings, both of which applied to the Baudelaire orphans. The Baudelaires were all at sea, because they were on a small boat hundreds of miles from land, but they were also all at sea because they were confused, bewildered and frightened. The world was full of questions and mysteries, and try as they might the Baudelaires could not find answers. They were at sea both figuratively and literally, adrift in an ocean of mystery and despair. Despite this, however, they had a cautious optimism that spurred them onwards. 

“We may be all at sea, but I’m sure that we will one day find our answers,” said Klaus.

“We may be all at sea, but I’m sure that we will one day find the shore,” said Violet.

“I hope so,” said Sunny, but her tone suggested that she did not have the same hope for stability that her siblings’ possessed. 

“Tense,” said Beatrice.

Just like the phrase “all at sea” or the Illicium of a Deep-Sea Anglerfish, what may appear to be one thing can actually be something far more sinister and dangerous. When little Beatrice Snicket was saying ‘tense’, she was not, as the other Baudelaires thought, referring to a specific grammatical construct designed to introduce time phrases into the language. She was saying tense’, a word which here means ‘I am unbearably anxious and scared’. It means, ‘I can barely move, I am so frightened’. It means, ‘I think I am going to die here, all at sea’. 

“Beatrice, what’s wrong?” exclaimed Violet, noticing the young child’s condition. “You’re shaking.” 

This was indeed true, as Beatrice was trembling with a ferocity that surprised the children, large blue eyes fixed on a strange shape on the horizon.

Klaus noticed this. “She’s worried about that. Over there.” He pointed to the approaching vessel, which appeared to be a large orb, undulating and expanding as it approached them with unnatural speeds. It was an almost blindingly white, and made a terrifying roaring noise, an apparent cross between the bellows of a lion and the warbling rush of the wind. Within the roar, however, there almost seemed to be voices, chanting some old funereal dirge or similar droning lament. At the same time, a piercing whistling noise could be heard, such that the Baudelaires clasped their hands to their ears in agony. Beatrice’s ears were already bleeding. 

“My god,” Violet cried.

“What is that thing?” asked Sunny.

Klaus adjusted his glasses, looking white as a sheet. “It looks like a weather balloon,” he stammered. “I’ve read about those. But they’re supposed to be in the sky, not all at sea.” What Klaus did not say was that, to his fevered brain, the orb momentarily reminded him of the Illicium of the Anglerfish. Perhaps this balloon-like object was only part of a larger sea monster, willing to swallow up the orphans is they got too near.

“Tense,” screamed Beatrice, tears streaming down her face.

“Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s friendly,” judged Violet. With a sudden burst of movement, she reached behind her and tied her hair up with a ribbon. Her siblings could see the inventing cogs in her brain begin to churn. “We have to go. Sunny, Klaus, start rowing. I’ll adjust the sails.”

The three orphans fell to work, although Klaus was forced to shoulder most of the work in rowing, as Sunny was not yet strong enough to lift the heavy oars through the water. Violet fiddled with the ropes attached to the sails, adjusting them so they caught the wind. These combined actions succeeded in allowing the skiff to cut a fast line through the water, but the orb still roared onwards, gathering more and more speed.

“It’s gaining on us,” said Klaus, looking backwards at their demonic pursuer. 

“What is that terrible roaring sound?” whimpered Sunny.

“It looks animal,” said Klaus, hauntingly reminded of the Illicium.

“It looks alien,” said Sunny.

“It looks like a machine,” said Violet.

Like so many cases in the lives of the Baudelaire orphans, their efforts, although valiant, proved to be fruitless. Even though Klaus and Sunny rowed as hard as they could, and Violet carefully moved the sails to catch the wind, the terrible orb was catching up with a tragic inevitability. With a sickening crunch, the balloon reached the stern of the boat-- the roaring noise took on a new intensity-- and the entire vessel split in two, Beatrice clutching to one half, the three orphans to the other. 

“Sunny!” screamed Beatrice, weeping furiously, as she sank with her namesake.

The orb did not desist at this behaviour, and was soon approaching the other children, undulating as it came. The children screamed in terror as it came, and the orb, strange as it may seem, began to absorb and consume the Baudelaires. Their faces were pressed into the stretched plastic of the balloon, and then--

Nothing. Blackness.

There are many things that have saddened me in my continued efforts to record the plight of the Baudelaire orphans, but this is one of the worst things I have ever written. And while I am pleased to say that the Baudelaires were not dead, the upcoming episode in their adventures was one of their most miserable yet. But this marked the loss of their old way of life, their old identities, their old names. Even as I encode the key message  _ ‘BEATRICE SANK’,  _ in a series of letters, and send these letters to my many acquaintances, I am aware that this sinking, this consumption by the orb, acted as an end to their own identities. The Baudelaires were gone, and in their place were Numbers 64, 26, 32, and 48.

And they were all at sea. 


End file.
